Ornamental Orbits
by MapleStreet Twirler
Summary: They were stars: Bright. Luminous. You? You were the moon. Incapable of being seen without basking in someone else's light. Hidden. Dark. [Rated for use of a swear word. Nothing more.]


**A/N: I don't really know how I feel about this. But, here it is regardless. All reviews are appreciated!**

**Also, before I forget, this one is dedicated to my friend Vandana. I know it ain't no Dramione, but it's all I got for now! I'm sorry I pulled those off. I'll revisit them and put 'em up again.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's contents. If I did, I wouldn't bother with school. I'd be off in Hawaii by now.**

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** Ornamental Orbits**

In the dimly lit dungeon, you are cornered. It's ironic, you muse. You always longed for power, and here it is. You have it. You are in control here. But those emerald eyes clouded in anger and jaw taut with (barely) suppressed rage are so familiar, you feel yourself transported back to a different time; a different place; a different _you._

You're back in Hogwarts, back in the place you could have loved – _should_ have loved - but came to hate. You bite back a bitter laugh. The people who knew you back then are amazed. Even now, they are shocked; they do not believe it.

_Peter Pettigrew? _They whisper. _Pettigrew's a Death Eater? He's one of them?_

**One of them**.

The phrase haunts you. It hangs over you every minute of every day, and it chases you in your sleep. It is mocking and taunting and it creeps up on you and clings and clings and clings. It holds you prisoner, and you think that it's funny, how the very thing you wanted to escape now seems to be your prison.

_Wormtail_. You used to smile every time you heard the nickname. You wore it with pride, because to you, it was everything. It meant that you _belonged._ You weren't just Pitiful Peter Pettigrew, always on the outside looking in. Now, you were _**Wormtail.**_ Bold, and capitalised. You were in the heart of every secret, privy to ever inner joke, and every knowing glance.

Now, it feels tainted. Wrong. A curse that cuts and laughs as you bleed.

Back then, it represented everything that mattered to you.

Finally, finally, _finally_, you had found friends. People who cared about you. People you wanted you around; valued you. You were thrilled. Everything you longed for was handed to you, no questions asked. You were more than accepted – you were loved. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs. They were everything. Your light, your saviors, keepers, companions. It was what every eleven year old boy dreamed of.

But then, everything changed. They weren't just your friends anymore. They weren't just The Marauders. No, now, they ruled. They were heroes. And you? You automatically became the trusted sidekick.

They denied it, of course. Vehemently opposed it.

"Fuck them, Wormy," James would say. "They don't know anything."

"C'mon, Peter," Remus would gently prod. Nudge. Encourage. "We're your _friends._"

"Say that to my face!" Sirius would roar in your defense, quick to whip out his wand.

To them, nothing had changed.

Oh, but it had.

Because they were stars: bright. Luminous. Independent. They fit. You? You were the moon. Not satisfied unless you had something to revolve around; not visible unless basking in someone else's light. Dark. Hidden.

Sometimes, it scares you; how easy it was for you to turn your back on them. Turn your back on the people who never turned on you.

_But they did._ A dark part of your mind argues. _James lived for no one but Lily. She took him away. Sirius was only around for James and Remus. You were the extra to him. And Remus? Do you really think Remus missed you? He wept because the Potters died. He wept because Sirius betrayed him. He forgot about you. You never meant anything to him. Never._

Then a part of you that you thought you'd lost, a part that stayed quiet for yours whispers softly : _But, they cared. They didn't severe ties; you pushed them away, and cast them aside._

The thoughts come unbidden and unrestricted to you then.

"_You know, Peter..." James would say to you. "Sometimes, people judge others without even knowing them. You can't blame them, though – they can't face themselves, and so they deface everyone else. You gotta know who to trust, y'know? And hold them close." He'd turn to you then, and his eyes would not have their ever present mischievous glint. "Don't listen to them, Pete. We're your friends, and they can't handle how awesome you are. So, they pick on things they know you'll believe, and push you down, because they can't pull themselves up. Don't let them. You have your worth, Wormtail. You don't need to prove that to anybody."_

You look at the boy now; you look at him, and you see everything you've taken away from him. His family, his childhood, and any spark of innocence. You did that to him.

"You owe me."

The words fall on your ears, and they strike a chord. You _do _owe him. You cant take back anything, but you can sure as hell try.

You're not dumb. You know what this means. You know this is the end. You don't care. You OWE him, this boy who looks extraordinarily like your James; this boy whose eyes hold the rebellious, righteous anger that so often clouded Sirius's; this boy who's loyalty, and understanding and compassion rival Remus'.

_He really is a mini Marauder,_ you think wryly. You're decision is made; your mind is set.

_Good luck, Harry._

Your hand moves ever so slightly. You don't know what you're planning on doing, but you know why you want to do it.

In that split second, that teeny moment in which the thought flickers through your minds, you feel something die deep within you. In that nanosecond, you know you have let go of any resentment you felt.

Your hand shoots up and holds you in a vice, slowly sucking every last breath out of you.

As yours eyes flicker shut, you hope that this will give you a chance for the redemption you so suddenly crave more than you crave air.

This is your last stand. It isn't powerful, or big, or even very effective, but it's all you have to give; and you give it all without a moment of hesitation.

The last words you ever think are: _I'm sorry, my friends._

**-Fin-**


End file.
